


you run my mind, boy, running on my mind

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Nothing but cotton candy fluff idek, Sharing Clothes, seriously, sickly sweet fluff, some unspoken things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 03:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: “Kraglin,” Yondu’s voice is muffled by the closet interior, as he huffily rummages through the unsorted heap of clothing, flinging the rejects to land in precarious piles against the walls. “Where the fuck is my wool undershirt, I know the frutarkin’ thing was here yesterday.”“Dunno boss,” Kraglin’s humming energetic buzz of a melody, bopping his head as he coaxes their cranky brew maker into life.Or what to do when your boyfriend's stealing all your clothes





	you run my mind, boy, running on my mind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt, "That’s my shirt you’re wearing and usually I’m okay with that because you’re so cute in my clothes but I wanted to wear it and it’s mine so I get priority." 
> 
> Although I didn't stick to it exactly, here's the first of the established relationship snippet prompt fics. This one's for Bridgh, hope you enjoy! <3 x
> 
> Definitely needs an edit, will probably get one in the morning.

“Kraglin,” Yondu’s voice is muffled by the closet interior, as he huffily rummages through the unsorted heap of clothing, flinging the rejects to land in precarious piles against the walls. “Where the fuck is my undershirt, I know the frutarkin’ thing was here yesterday.”

While leather is perfectly practical outer layer, Yondu does not want to walk about with it chafing and slicking up with sweat. Bad enough he has to wear something so tight and constricting on his upper half. The launderers would be prime suspects in the strange disappearance, except for how Yondu was _positive_ it had made its way back here after the monthly power clean he put all his things through. 

“Dunno boss,” Kraglin’s humming an energetic buzz of a melody, bopping his head as he coaxes their cranky brew maker into life. Yondu pulls his head out of the closet to watch him and his ridiculous dance moves. 

Damn morning person. Clearly, something needs to be done to stop him making that racket. Heaving himself to his feet, Yondu pads up to Kraglin before pushing himself between Kraglin and the counter.

“ ’S too early for you t’be making all that cheerful noise, darling,” Yondu slides a palm up Kraglin’s chest to his neck, loops his hand around his nape and and pulls him down.

They kiss slowly, lazily, letting the brew bubble contentedly behind them. Kraglin’s marks still throb gently every time Yondu moves and stretches the skin on his neck, and he thinks on Kraglin’s subvocal little growls last night as he worried them in blue-black. It makes Yondu’s breath speed up, and he tilts his head, strokes that sensitive spot right behind Kraglin’s ear and fucks his tongue into his mouth. 

Kraglin whimpers, slides his hands down Yondu’s sides, around to the small of his back andmakes a stealthy grab for Yondu’s ass, groping at it greedily.

Good boy.

“Think that mouth could be busy doing something else,” Yondu rasps out, grinding his hips forward pointedly into Kraglin’s, stroking down the sensitive bumps of his spine. He revels in the shaky moan it gets him and the way Kraglin’s knees give a precarious little wobble.

Better ease him off his feet before he falls. After all, it’s only considerate.

 

The next time something in his closet inexplicably goes missing, he isn’t quite so sanguine. The _Eclector_ is both of an age and so haphazardly mish-mashed together that the sections closest to her reactors are heated well enough one could walk about without a shirt, if they so pleased. 

Unfortunately the vents do a rather poor job of distributing that heat about. This means Yondu, by birth the denizen of a rainforest planet, tends to carefully layer himself into wool before buckling on his leathers. 

There’s always a mournful wisp of thought, when he does so. On Stakar’s new rather well-funded ship, he’d often swaggered about in nothing more than his overcoat and a pair of thin leather trousers. Yondu only kept his boots on to avoid the grumpy lectures Stakar tended to give when he saw him running about without them, things about ‘going to stick a screw through that foot of yours’ and ‘I’m captain and I say so’ and other such blather.

One of the ever-present staples in his wardrobe now is thick socks, made of wool-stuff smooth enough so as not to itch and pull at the microscopic scaling of his skin. This morning however, somehow the last clean pair he’d been _sure_ he had, is nowhere to be found. 

“Kraglin–“ Yondu starts to say, before remembering his first mate and maybe-slightly-more-than-casual bedpartner had lugged himself out of bed an hour earlier than usual, to cover for some minor emergency on the bridge.

There’s no brew pot boiling merrily away for him to pour a cup from. No one trying to sneak in a furtive nuzzle with a beaky nose, or drop a kiss on the side of his implant. Fine. Meant he’d be able to get his through his morning routine with no distractions. 

Little blisters start to form as he clomps his way to the bridge, tender skin rubbing roughly against tough boot leather. Being able to buy the good socks means he’s lost all but the most determined of his callouses, and his laundry won’t come back until this evening. Whatever. He’s the scourge of the seventh galactic quadrant, a stupid little thing like no socks isn’t gonna hurt him. 

 

“Fucking stars-cursed incompetent sons of a wart-faced f’saki,” Yondu donkey kicks his boot into the wall behind him, with a vicious sort of satisfaction. The other swiftly follows. Of all days for a rookie to decide that maybe those colors on the wiring were just to make it look pretty. 

After shedding the rest of his sweat-sodden clothes, Yondu flops face first on the bed, ignoring the throbbing in his feet, and the ache in his back. Nothing’s moving him until his morning alarm goes off. 

“Sir?” The cabin door slides open with a cranky screech, and then there’s the sound of Kraglin clomping in. Honestly for a Ravager who can slip in and out of places stealthily enough to keep his bounties under 500,000 units, that man clonks about louder than a herd of wildebeests. 

The bed dips where Kraglin settles himself by Yondu’s waist, and there’s the sound of one boot hitting the floor, then the other. The mattress shifts unsteadily as Kraglin noisily unfastens all the ridiculous buckles on his jumpsuit, and Yondu huffs out a cantankerous growl into the bedding. 

“Stop all that goddamn’ squirming,” his voice is muffled by the bedding but twists his aching neck enough to be sure Kraglin can hear him, “an’ get in the goddamn–“ 

He lets out a surprised _oof_ as Kraglin’s bony ass settles firmly over his lower back, but before he can say anything more those long, dexterous fingers of his are kneading gently at all the knot and ache of his muscles. 

Yondu makes a noise rather like the relieved whistle a tea kettle makes just as it’s taken off the heat. _Fuck_ , the man is good with his hands. 

He means to flip over at some point, see what else they could get up to with Kraglin up on top of him like that. Somehow though the slow, deep rub against his skin, the low soothing hum Kraglin started up at some point means before he quite realizes it’s happened, he’s drifted off. 

  

Thank the fucking stars it’s finally time for a liberty call. Yondu’s been near run off his feet with this latest batch of nubs, and he’s ready to not see another one of their goddamn faces for at least a whole astral cycle. 

After tasking a beleaguered Tullk with their oversight and double checking that every last one of the them had boarded the shuttles going planet-side, Yondu trudges back to his quarters. 

Looks like Kraglin's beat him to the punch, splayed out fast asleep on their bed. It looks like he only got half way through undressing before drifting off though, because he's got his jumpsuit pulled down only to his waist and...

Wait. Is that Yondu's undershirt? Yondu eases himself onto the bed, runs a hand down Kraglin's back. It is his shirt, that lanky thief. 

Yondu squints down at Kraglin's feet with sudden suspicion. Looks like his socks didn't decide to squirrel themselves into one of those pocket dimension that always pops up around piles of laundry. Well, clearly there's only one way to remedy this. 

"Whaaaa..." Kraglin pops awake with a bleary flail as Yondu yanks first one sock, and then the other off his feet. 

"Dunno where my shirt is, huh," Yondu cheerfully slings a leg over Kraglin's lower back, pinning him down as he worms his hands under the shirt hem. Kraglin’s eyes widen guiltily and he stops squirming. 

“Um,” Kraglin says. “Well.” 

By now, Yondu’s got the shirt up and over Kraglin’s head, and he watches as gooseflesh ripples up and down his mate’s skinny arms. No wonder he’d stolen Yondu’s shirt, the bony git. Better get him under the furs before he turns blue. 

Yondu rolls off Kraglin, reaches down to hike the pile of bedclothes higher. 

“Here, c’mon, better sleep,” Yondu arranges one of Kraglin’s arms around his waist, tangles their legs together, “gotta be fresh-eyed t’deal with that bunch of nubs again tomorrow.” 

A cold beaky nose is buried against his nape, and Yondu shivers irritably, grumbles a little under his breath. It’s getting warm fast though, both of them snugged together under the covers and Kraglin’s shivering stops. 

Just before Yondu drifts off, there’s a quiet “Love ya,” slurred against his neck and the hand on his side squeezes gently. 

Sentimental idiot. 

Yondu grumbles softly under his breath, giving the hand resting against him a gentle squeeze in return.

 

When Yondu wakes up the next morning, Kraglin’s already gone. This time though, the smell of fresh brew drifts lazily through the air, and his undershirt and socks are carefully draped over his leathers. 

What isn’t there though, he realizes after he finishes fastening the last buckle of his jacket, is his scarf. So when he strides onto the bridge, Yondu’s not entirely surprised to see it wrapped around his first mate’s neck. 

Kraglin may look damn cute all bundled up in his scarf, frowning determinedly down at the navboard with his nose all scrunched up. It’s cold here on the bridge though, and no matter what weird thing Kraglin has with stealing his clothes, Yondu’s taking this back too. 

“The nav outputs all good?” Yondu tugs at the edge of the scarf, raises an eyebrow as Kraglin blushes and stares even harder at the dash. 

“Yessir, on route and all outputs in normal perimeters.”

The last end of the scarf unwinds completely, the ends secured in Yondu’s fist. 

“Go t’hear,” he sniffs, wraps the scarf tightly around his neck, tucking the edges in securely into his jacket collar. 

It’s still warm, smells just a little like leather and the musk of Kraglin’s skin – almost like having him right here next to Yondu.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he let Kraglin steal it again tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> please to be leaving comments! <3


End file.
